


Nosce Te Ipsum

by Aloysia_Virgata



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-30
Updated: 2015-07-30
Packaged: 2018-04-12 02:56:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4462856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aloysia_Virgata/pseuds/Aloysia_Virgata
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This was triggered by TrustNo1 because I don't think she would have invited Mulder to bed out of loneliness. I guess this is kind of a rebuttal to that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nosce Te Ipsum

**Author's Note:**

> Note: This is the first fic I ever wrote. I was tempted to edit it, but decided to leave it as-is.

Dana Scully had stopped listening to the good doctor when he began with, "I'm sorry."

She sat politely, numbly, through his speech, his words a meaningless buzz in her ears. She thanked him for his attempts, gathered her jacket, and fumbled with the doorknob. The receptionist watched as she tripped slightly at the threshold and walked out into the hallway where the rose-patterned carpet looked dull and the air had a flat, clinical smell. Motes of dust floated aimlessly through shafts of pale afternoon sunlight and swirled back in the updraft of the ventilation system.

She was not entirely aware of leaving the office and walking out onto the busy sidewalk. Nor was she entirely aware of entering the small coffee shop where she found herself suddenly pulled back into the world by the weight of an elegantly manicured hand on her shoulder.

"Dana Scully! My god, it's been forever." The voice belonged to Sarah Ellison, now Sarah Campbell, a former Arabic language specialist with the Bureau.

Scully turned to look at her. Sarah had retired shortly after discovering that she and her wealthy lobbyist husband were expecting their first child. Even knowing this, it was jarring to see the very large and perfectly round belly on Sarah's otherwise lean frame. Scully's stomach clenched as she forced a smile.

"It's good to see you, Sarah. You look wonderful."

This, Scully grudgingly admitted to herself, was true. Sarah's masses of golden hair had never been glossier, her skin never creamier, and her breasts never firmer. She was radiant and looked like the cover of a pregnancy magazine. Scully gestured dutifully to the empty seat across from her. "How have you been? When is the baby due?"

Sarah laughed and flashed her flawless white veneers as she eased herself into the chair.

"I've been great. I don't much miss work either, I can tell you that. Getting ready for this baby has been exhausting, but so fun! He's due the middle of next month and I've got the nursery pretty well set up but we haven't half settled on a name. I think Ben wants to use some lame family thing."

She patted her belly affectionately and took a long sip of her drink, smacking her lips in appreciation.

Sarah then rested her hand on Scully's forearm and watched her intently. "But what about you, Dana? How've you been? You look drained, honey. Why don't you get married and maybe have one of these little guys too? The FBI doesn't make much of a lover, no matter how much you give."

Her voice dropped to a stage whisper.

"You're not still fucking Fox Mulder are you?"

Sarah had never been one to mince words.

Scully coughed lightly and took a taste of her scalding black coffee, the liquid burn a sudden reminder that she could still feel anything at all. What she wanted to say was that she had never been fucking Fox Mulder. She wanted to tell Sarah that, in fact, they were caught up in an emotionally destructive codependency so completely devoid of physical intimacy that she had implored him to jerk off into a jar so that she could get pregnant. And as she had just discovered that even that bit of pathos had been a failure, she wanted to take a long, hot shower and cry until she passed out.

Instead, she took another draught of coffee, sighed, and, in a slightly clipped voice, said, "Despite the persistence of that particular rumor, Sarah, it isn't actually true. I know it doesn't do much for the gossip mill, but Agent Mulder and I have truly never had anything other than a very close working relationship. He has become a good friend, but nothing more."

She set the mug down and stared directly at Sarah, wondering if the lie would be reflected back in those deep green eyes.

Sarah's face was inscrutable.

"I'm sorry, Dana. Honestly, I didn't mean to offend you. You know how people talk." She consulted her delicate, diamond-studded watch.

"Anyway, I have to head out for a massage appointment right now or I'd love to stay and chat. But listen, take care of yourself and come visit me sometime. Ben's got a good crop of eligible friends and you really are terribly pretty, especially when you smile. Let me introduce you around, Dana. You need some more...congenial company." She gave a maddening wink as she maneuvered herself out of the chair.

As Sarah walked to the door and headed to an afternoon of pampering, Scully took a dark pleasure in noticing that her gentle, hip-swinging sashay had turned into a decided waddle. As she inhaled the final waft of Sarah's perfume, she took a moment to ask her lord and savior to bestow stretch marks and hemorrhoids as well, and then rose to begin the unforgiving walk home.

***

Mulder was sprawled across the length of Scully's couch as he bounced a basketball idly against the ceiling of her living room. On every fourth or fifth bounce, small flakes of plaster would shake loose and dust him softly with a fine white powder. He had wanted to go to Scully's appointment with her, but when he asked her if he could come, she had agreed with a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.

He was privately hurt, but he knew her well enough to understand her misgivings. After careful examination by Dr. Parenti, it was discovered that he small vial he had managed to save had contained only nine viable ova. Six had been successfully fertilized and he had gone with her for the first round of implantation, both of them at once shy and excited. Scully had squeezed his hand as she lay on the table for the procedure, smiling nervously. 

They had attended the follow-up appointment together and when none of the three embryos successfully implanted, the crushing disappointment had staggered Scully like a blow. He had watched her struggle to maintain a cool demeanor for his sake and she spoke calmly and hopefully of the success of the next round. But he saw the fear flitting in the corners of her eyes and understood why she wanted to make this visit alone.

The news of their three potential children would be hers to give him and so he might be a father right now and not even know it. The thought overwhelmed him momentarily and he felt as though he were falling through space, weightless and without direction. The basketball came down in a small flurry of plaster and hit him in the stomach.

Mulder then directed his attention to another small wound he had been nursing; the one Scully had inadvertently created when she asked him to be the sperm donor. His first reaction had been that of absolute humility. He did not feel worthy of her request and was so deeply touched and honored that he had been initially unable to even reply to her halting words.

When she had asked him, she could barely meet his eyes. Nervous fingers played with the cross at her neck and then she had twirled her earring so hard he feared she would rip it right through the lobe.

"Please," she had said. "Don't answer now. Just think it over." After that she had turned and gone without a backwards glance, leaving him at once giddy and bewildered.

She could have gone with an anonymous donor but she had wanted him instead. He had thought his heart would burst with the pride of it and he longed to run after her to tell her how excited he was. But he had seen the shyness in her face as she spoke and knew she had wanted his answer later for her own sake as well as his. She was buying herself time to smooth out her veneer.

It was only later that his less altruistic side had come creeping forward to whisper into his ear. It wasn't that he had actually expected her to suggest the traditional method of conception, but there was something so depressingly clinical about this impregnation that he felt rather sad about it. He recalled the twist in his stomach when she had mentioned "the donor process" and laughed a bit to himself. Who knew he was so old fashioned? Mulder had thought her a beautiful woman for a number of years but she had never once figured into any prurient imaginings of his. He held it as part of his personal code of honor not to use her so shamefully and the irony of what she had asked of him in light of this chivalrous abstention was bordering on the painful. 

He then wondered if he were really old fashioned at all or just the victim of a bruised ego. He remembered reading a news blurb about scientists who were trying to collect the sperm of some large species of bird -- Was it a vulture? He couldn't recall. -- and wore large hats ornamented with a likeness of a female of the species. The birds attempted to mate with the hats and then the scientists collected the semen via a large rubber brim around the edge of the hat.

Mulder couldn't decide whether this recollection made him feel more or less awkward and he resolved to think of something else until Scully arrived with the fate of those final embryos. He imagined them looking like sea monkeys.

He rummaged in her refrigerator and came away with one of the beers she always kept around for him. Surprised to find himself exhausted after he drank the last of it, Mulder settled comfortably on the couch once more. The family portraits, that of stern Bill Scully in particular, seemed to stare with cold, disapproving eyes as he drifted into a troubled sleep.

***

You win a while and then it's done  
Your little winning streak.  
And summoned now to deal  
With your invincible defeat,  
You live your life as if it's real  
A thousand kisses deep.

A Thousand Kisses Deep, Leonard Cohen

***

Scully paused in the hallway outside of the apartment and slumped against the wall while letting out a long, shuddery breath. She knew Mulder would be there, hoping for happy news and she had none to give. She thanked him silently for knowing her so well and graciously allowing her to go alone, though he really had every right to insist on being present.

She thought of those six failed attempts and was struck by the realization that Mulder had lost something as well. But it was such a strange situation that she was unsure about how to go forward. They were not a normal couple who had experienced a disappointed hope together and she had no real plan for how to break her sad news to him or what she expected him to say. She did things best when she did them alone and facing Mulder with all of this made her slightly anxious. Scully gave a rueful laugh as she considered how well that truth about herself coincided with even her attempts to conceive a child.

Six dead embryos. Had they ever even been alive? Both the doctor and the Catholic within her were unsure, but she was keenly certain of the pain that was left when not a single one had begun to grow into a baby.

She hated Dr. Parenti for failing her. She hated Sarah Campbell for the insipid perfection of her existence. Mostly she hated herself for whatever shortcomings had led her to such misery. She crossed herself quickly, mostly out of habit but also out of a genuine desire for divine guidance and forgiveness. She opened the door and braced herself, knowing that the disappointment would be even harder to bear once she told him. Telling him would make it real.

***

Mulder sat up as he heard the creak of the door, wondering how long he had been asleep. There had been strange, disturbing dreams, the details of which he couldn't quite recall. "Scully?" he said. "I must have dozed off. I was waiting for you to get back..."

He noticed her face. Her eyes were dark and heavy-lidded, her mouth hard to keep from crying. He could see the shimmer of tears and watched her sadly, intently, before looking away a beat. "It didn't take, did it?"

Scully looked down and away as she answered. "I guess it was too much to hope for."

Her eyes flicked upwards to his for only a second and he could see something breaking deep within her. She inhaled while her lower lip trembled and he had never seen her look so defeated. Pain radiated from her into the very air. Like a dark halo. Like a stain.

"No," he said, though it came out as little more than a breath. He took a step towards her, wishing he had any idea what on earth he could say. The loss was his also, though not as acutely as it was hers, and he pushed aside his own disappointment. He recognized then that he had expected this to work and hadn't prepared himself for the possibility that it would not. He pulled her close and she rested her chin against his shoulder, face pressed to his.

"It was my last chance." Her voice was a sob.

He held her tighter and felt her shaking. She finally pulled back a bit and looked down. He kissed her forehead and she glanced up, eyes still brimming with tears. She leaned back in to him, her forehead against his.

"Never give up on a miracle," he said to her.

She buried her face in his shoulder and he could feel her tears against his neck. He wrapped his arms around her and held her until she let go. Her voice was steady when she spoke.

"A miracle?" she said. "Mulder, when I lost...when Emily was dying, you told me that she was a miracle that was never meant to be." She silenced his protest with a look. "No, you were right. But really, isn't that what any miracle is? Something that was never meant to be? Maybe this is God's way of telling me to find another path. Maybe I'm not meant for this. For..." he saw her fight back her tears. "...for motherhood."

She took off her jacket and swallowed hard as she sat down; elbows on her knees, head in her hands. Her fingers tightened in her hair and her back rose rhythmically as she took slow, even breaths. Mulder thought it best to leave her so that she could grieve however she needed and he touched the top of her head in farewell. When she did not respond, he walked to the door and opened it.

"Mulder?" she said. Puzzlement in her voice.

"I thought you might like to be alone right now. I don't want to...I mean, I feel like I'm intruding." He shifted nervously in the doorway.

She gave him a watery smile. "No, you're not. I'd like it if you stayed. I'm probably not going to be much company this evening, but if it's all right with you, I'd rather you didn't go."

She looked down again as her fingers twisted anxiously in her lap. Scully found herself wishing that she still smoked because now seemed the time when a cigarette would have been a comfort. She picked at her cuticles instead; self-destruction on a lower order of magnitude. Mulder sat down next to her as she tore away a small shred of skin on her thumb. They both watched it bleed and he stood up again, tapping his fingers against his thighs.

"I'm getting you a band-aid."

"Make it a beer," she said, hoping he would not chide her about alcohol. She thought she might shoot him if he did.

He said nothing at all, but nodded and came back with two beers and a bottle opener. He opened them both and she watched the small puffs of mist rise from the rims. She took an appreciative sip and thanked him as he sat. The beer seemed to set him at ease, or maybe it was just the fact that he now had something to do with his hands.

"I'm sorry," he told her.

"It's okay." She stared ahead, but covered his hand with her own.

"Well, actually, it isn't. But it will be. Thanks for everything, Mulder. Thanks for being here." She idly traced lazy figure eights on the back of his hand with her thumb and he felt warm and oddly forgiven, though he wasn't sure why. She turned then and clinked her bottle against his. "To what might have been," she said, her voice soft and sad.

Mulder shook his head. "I won't drink to that, Scully. How about, 'To what may be.' "

Scully's laugh was cold. She pressed her hands to her face and he heard air whistle through her fingers as she exhaled. Her voice, when it came again, was brittle.

"'What may be?' Mulder, the news I got today is the end of a hope I have cherished my whole life. The idea of 'what may be' is more than I can handle right now. I need to just take a look at where I am for once and figure out what it means. I'm so tired of looking ahead to the next thing. I'm so, so tired."

Mulder sat still, afraid to move or to speak, and stared at his steepled fingers. He started as she began to speak again, her fingers peeling idly at the label on the bottle.

"I ran into Sarah Ellison, sorry, Campbell, on my way home." The anger was gone from her voice. She sounded drained now and he ached for her, but had nothing wise say.

"Oh." His voice was uncertain. "How is Sarah?"

"She's the same way she always is. She's perfect and gorgeous and happy and charming. She looks like something to eat. Like a piece of lemon meringue pie. She wants to set me up with one of Ben's friends so that I can have a meaningful life of ease. She was completely sincere about her concern for me, and so I think I despise her."

The label was mostly gone now, lying in small damp curls on the coffee table. Scully took a long, deep drink from the bottle and propped her feet up on the table.

"Her baby is due next month. She's having a little boy, upon whom I suspect she will bestow a stupid name. She will dress him in very small blazers with crests on the breast pocket and have a fabulously happy life."

She raised her beer and drank the last of it.

"May we all be as blessedly ignorant of reality as Sarah Campbell."

Mulder looked up at this and saw two steady streams of tears running down her cheeks. She flung her empty bottle against the wall where it shattered loudly and fell to the floor.

"Fuck," she said.

She stared at the spot on the wall, and then, it seemed, right on through it.

Mulder got up and pulled the vacuum cleaner out of her front closet. He felt her watching him as he cleaned up the mess, first throwing away the large pieces of glass, then sucking up the tiny fragments. He returned to her side.

"I'm sorry," he said again, feeling somewhat helpless.

She smiled, pain and tenderness in her eyes. "I didn't mean to..."

He cut her off with a shrug. "I understand. I really do. I just don't know what to say to you right now. Other than the wrong thing, evidently."

His expression was sheepish and it left her chagrined. Her focus returned once more to the ragged edge of her thumbnail.

"The truth is I don't know the right thing to say either. I don't know what to say to you or what I want to hear in return. I'm feeling kind of lost right now, Mulder."

She wiped her face with her shirtsleeves, then arched her back and stretched her arms all the way upwards with her fingers twined together. Mulder heard her shoulders and back crack. She looked satisfied.

"If you think of it, you'll tell me."

"I will."

The tension that had been crackling in the air dissipated and floated away. Scully reached for the remote and the television screen bloomed to life. Lucy and Ethel were arguing with Ricky and Fred about who had the harder time of it. Scully smiled in spite of herself and Mulder caught her reaction from the corner of his eye. He smiled too. They watched until the credits rolled and Scully shook herself as the show ended.

"So predictable, but still funny. I love them in the chocolate factory."

Another episode was beginning and Mulder recognized it as the one where Lucy was a shill for Vitameatavegamin. He left Scully on the couch and went into her kitchen to order a pizza. With the order placed and thirty minutes (or it's free!) to kill, he started gathering a tray of things to carry out to the coffee table. Maybe she'd be okay after all. Maybe they both would.

He walked back out to the living room where Scully had propped herself up on a pillow and was stretched out under a blanket. The fringe of the blanket hung neatly and evenly over the edge of the cushions and lay on a smooth plane over her legs and abdomen. Her shoes were now lined up beside the end of the couch instead of kicked under the table. He noticed the crumpled beige ball of her stockings tucked inside one heel. She was resting quietly, her body still and her breathing regular.

He watched her for a moment while Lucy staggered drunkenly around the television studio, and he then sat in an adjacent chair. Scully looked at him and then back at the television. They sat quietly in the flickering glow and both jumped when the doorbell rang.

Mulder got up and handed a twenty to the delivery girl, telling her to keep the change. She tucked it into her cleavage and winked at him before turning back down the hall. She stalked deliberately, like a runway model, and her ass bounced with every exaggerated motion. He chuckled and closed the door.

Good for you, he thought. Do what you can to get by.

Scully rubbed her eyes. "Thanks for the pizza, Mulder." She sat up and started to unload the tray he had carried in. He wrinkled his nose as she patted her pizza gently with a napkin to blot off the grease.

"That's the good part."

"Well, you can wring it back onto yours if you want to."

They ate and drank in companionable silence, Mulder polishing off four pieces to Scully's one picked-over slice.

"Well, that does it for me. No, no. Sit down, Mulder. I'll clean all of this up. I need something to do."

She rose and gathered everything back onto the tray, carrying it into the kitchen. He listened to her small domestic noises as he ate her abandoned crust over his cupped hand.

Scully came back into the room and sat next to him, playfully bumping her arm and shoulder against his.

"I appreciate your being here. I'm just going to watch some TV for a while so you can head out if you want. I know you hate this show."

He laughed. Well, it's not 'Plan 9 From Outer Space' or anything, but I don't hate it. Do you want me to go?"

"No, I don't. I was being nice."

He slid to the far end of the couch and rested a pillow on his lap. "Here, lay back down. I'll braid your hair and afterwards you do mine. Then we'll make prank calls and try on your mother's bras."

She gave him her first real smile of the day and laid down, her head resting on the pillow. He draped the blanket around her and she curled smaller beneath it. He stroked her forehead and she closed her eyes.

"Mulder, did you ever wonder why I stayed in my old apartment for so long, even though my sister died in it? My mother used to flinch every time she came in and Bill could barely stand to visit. Everyone thought I was crazy to stay there."

She was utterly relaxed as she said this, but his back stiffened involuntarily. The guilt had never left him, though she did not know and he never spoke of it. His voice was little more than a whisper when he answered her.

"Why did you stay?"

"I think it's for the same reason that people put up those memorials by the side of the road when someone dies in a car crash. It's kind of rare to have a private space to mark the end of a life. Somehow I couldn't bear to think of passing by the building and thinking of someone else stepping over the spot where her body was without knowing about it. Like treading on sacred ground or something. It took a long time to let go. That's crazy, right?"

She sighed contentedly while he traced her eyelids with his fingertip.

"That doesn't sound crazy."

"I figured you'd understand. You usually do."

She was silent after this, her breathing even and her eyes closed although she was still awake. Mulder followed the curve of her jaw down to her chin and pressed his finger into the hollow of her neck before moving back up to the other side of her face. The long line of her nose, the angled plane of her cheekbone. His eyes slid closed and he cupped his hand against her cool skin, thumb nestled behind her ear, fingers splayed across her cheek. He wanted to sleep just so and felt himself beginning to fade when she shifted slightly beneath his hand and kissed the tip of his finger.

He opened his eyes and looked down at her.

She kissed his palm.

"Scully."

She turned slowly to look up at him, her eyes wide and unreadable. She propped herself up on one elbow.

"What?"

Her voice was low and strange. He found himself once more in the position of not knowing what to say and the air now felt like a thing, like a silken curtain draped around them and hanging in shimmering folds between them. His throat felt too thick to say anything even if he'd had anything to say. So he leaned down and kissed her full on the lips. They were cool and tasted slightly salty from dinner. He thought of seawater. By the time she stopped tasting of salt, he couldn't think of very much at all.

Scully sat up straighter, responding in kind, pushing him against back of the couch. Mulder had kissed her once before, on New Year's Eve, and she had not minded at all and kissed him back. It was more than a friendly kiss, to be sure, but they had never really discussed it afterwards and she thought of it rarely and with little more than fond amusement. The moment, the New Year, the end of a long day. People did these things and life went on like a steady pulse after a brief arrhythmia.

This was different. She felt as though the room were charged and became aware of herself, of drawing air into her lungs, of her skirt sliding easily up to her waist where it bunched under the light fabric of the blouse Mulder had just untucked. Her hands went up to his chest, to his neck, to the rough texture of his unshaven cheek. She nipped his earlobe lightly and heard him groan.

"Scully."

She slid her tongue into his mouth and he didn't say anything else.

Something in the back of Mulder's head was ringing an alarm bell and he truly did not care. He considered and discarded the idea that he was taking advantage of her as soon as she slid onto his lap.

His hands went to her waist and found that for the first time, he did not think of her as a hard, beautiful, shining thing carved from rare stone. She was warming beneath his hands and her body felt soft.

He had never stopped to consider the possibility that she could be soft.

Mulder pulled her close and then turned her gently so that she was lying beneath him. She made a long, soft noise against his mouth and he shivered when her hands slid underneath his shirt. He kissed her harder, pressing against her and feeling the gentle parabola of her hips and belly arched up against him. Her nails raked down his spine and he believed that he could die with a life fully lived. One hand reached between their bodies to unbutton her shirt before he noticed that she already had.

He sat back for a second, breathing hard. She gazed up at him, eyes dark and full. He saw the smooth dip of skin beneath her ribs and how the shadows lay across her. Her thighs were white and taut; her waistband was unfastened and hung low. He looked then to the upward sweep of her breasts, cupped firmly in a plain white satin bra.

He swallowed and felt a strangeness come over him as he stared down at this new Scully. Is this what Padgett had seen in her? The whole of her that he had suspected, but never actually contemplated? This Scully, with her warm skin and her limpid eyes, was a mystery to him.

She inhaled, her chest rising before him, and his next breath tingled in the back of his throat. He rose to take his shirt off and the fine lift of her eyebrow nearly undid him.

Scully stood before him, unused to the height difference that was even more pronounced when she was barefoot. She did not come quite to his shoulder. She pressed her face against his chest and took in the scent of his skin, kissing him softly here, running her fingertips there. Her nails scratched him slightly. His breathing was hard as he ran his hands over her, feeling the heat rise through her shirt. But he could not kiss her easily this way and so sat once more, pulling her back down to him.

Scully slid her cheek against his and enjoyed the sandpaper caress of his stubble against her skin. His breath was hot on her neck, which had become unbearably sensitive, and she arched forward, nipples painful against her bra. Her mouth was hard against Mulder's and she had begun to rock herself slowly against his lap. He was pushing up against her and she wanted her clothes off with a burning urgency. She was shimmying out of her shirt when she heard Sarah Campbell's voice in her head.

_You're not still fucking Fox Mulder are you?_

Scully had a sudden vision of herself crouched under Mulder's desk, giving him a blow job while he spat sunflower seeds into her hair and analyzed slides of crop circles.

The tableau was at once so awful and hilarious that she wasn't entirely sure whether to laugh or weep. Instead she broke their kiss and sat up on her knees, chest heaving.

"I can't do this." Her voice was raw and broken, regret clear on her face. Mulder dropped his head back to stare at the ceiling, panting hard. Anywhere but her half-naked body, still rosy from exertion and desire. His breathing was ragged and quick and Scully could clearly see his erection pressed against his leg. She looked away and took his hands in hers. He jumped slightly.

Mulder could hear the cool rationalism slipping back in as she spoke. "I can't sleep with you just because I feel sorry for myself."

She lay against his bare chest and his leg twitched hard against her side.

"Please," he said, his voice hoarse. "Don't."

She sat up, apologetic, and pulled her blouse back on. She ran a hand through her tousled hair and tucked it behind her ear as she stood.

"Mulder, you have to understand me. I'm not saying I don't want this. I'm just saying that I don't know if this is the right time. I just need to think about this, okay? What this means. We still have to work together."

He got to his feet and laughed once, a mirthless laugh, and his voice was laced with bitterness and sarcasm. "Oh, no. No, we wouldn't want to ruin our reputations. I mean, that would really suck."

Mulder reached past her and pulled his shirt on. He caught sight of her face and she looked as though he had slapped her. Everything was going wrong today. Each moment hung like a fruit, ripe with some new folly for him to pluck.

"Shit. Scully, I didn't mean it. That wasn't directed at you. I'm just... hell. I don't even know anymore."

"It's fine. I understand." Her voice was tight, but it looked like she meant it and he did not say anything else on the matter. They had each drawn blood once tonight and were even now. Time to move on.

"I figured you'd understand. You usually do." He chanced a look and was relieved to see her smile. He squeezed her shoulder. "I'm going to go home."

She nodded, collected now, and followed him to the entryway.

"Goodnight, Scully. Get some sleep."

"I'll call you later."

"I'll be okay. Go to bed."

He walked out and closed the door.

***

One late summer day, when Samantha Mulder was six years old, she sat with her brother Fox under an apple tree. There was a basket of freshly picked apples between them and they busied themselves with thumping the apples against the ground until they were bruised all over. Then they would bite the apples and slurp the juice out, leaving the rest to a droning cluster of bees and a white nanny goat. The apples were both firm and tender where the flesh was bruised and the taste was achingly sweet with the metallic tang of the skin beneath. Fox and Samantha had gorged themselves on the entire basket and did not mind when their mother scolded them for their sticky hands and pathetic appetites at dinner.

Mulder remembered that afternoon as he sat in the corner booth of a local bar and ran his finger around the rim of his glass of scotch. It made a tinny sound.

His hair stuck up in all directions where her grasping fingers had pulled at it, but he did not smooth it down. What he wanted to do was to go back up to Scully's apartment and tell her that her mouth reminded him of bruised apples. Since this would constitute insanity, he began lighting every match in the book on his table and blowing them out when they were of equal lengths.

It was tricky to get them even because they could not be relit and the focus required kept his mind from wandering back to the sound of Scully's gasping breath against his ear. He tried to stop thinking about her, mostly because his erection had only just stopped being exquisitely painful and also because he kept agonizing over things that he could have done differently. What if he had listened to that voice in the back of his head? He wouldn't have gotten to run his hands over her, but maybe she would have thought differently if he had been the one to slow things down. What if he had told her that he loved her? Would she have rolled her eyes this time? What if, what if, what if? 

He knew why she had stopped things, but knowing did little to ease his distress. He remembered what she had said about her sister, about sacred ground. He felt a familiar pang at the thought of Melissa Scully. Of Emily. He sighed deeply and thought about the growing web of things that now wove them together. The lies, the pain, the fertility treatments. The way her fingers burned his skin where they touched him.

Mulder remembered the first time he had met her, that fresh-faced woman child so eager to do right. He felt like their work had destroyed her and that this new Scully was a thing risen from her ashes. The fact that she loved him (for he knew she did) thrilled and pained him. He took the first sip of his scotch and found it to have a smooth, peaty flavor. The warm, golden scent rising from it recalled to him the way her neck smelled and he asked the waitress for another book of matches.

***

Nothing comes easily  
Fill this empty space  
Nothing is like it was  
Turn my grief to grace  
Nothing comes easily  
Where do I begin?  
Nothing can bring me peace  
I've lost everything  
I just want to feel your embrace

Grace, Kate Havnevik

***

When the door had clicked shut, Scully walked into the bathroom and stared at herself under the unyielding glare of fluorescent bulbs.

She was starry-eyed with flushed cheeks and hair that tumbled around her face and curled into lovelocks at her ears. Her mouth was full with the bottom lip swollen into a pout. She saw that her skirt had twisted, the open zipper now swung around to her navel and the low line of her underwear was just visible. Her shirt had a button hanging off of it.

"Jesus, Dana. You look like a class act."

Her thighs ached and her skin felt hypersensitive as she undressed. She shivered as her skirt finally dropped to the floor and when she went to slide her underwear off, she felt a slick, sticky patch on her right hipbone. Her jaw dropped in horror and she sat down on the toilet seat, her brain racing frantically. He had kept his jeans on, hadn't he? But his fly, had she opened it? She thought not, but couldn't quite remember. The idea of him having come against her hip without her noticing, of sending him home after that, filled her with a sharp, sinking mortification.

She thought carefully and realized the substance on her skin was only gel from the ultrasound she'd had at Dr Parenti's office earlier that day. It had felt like years ago since she had been in his office, smiling blankly from his plush little chairs. Yes, yes. She understood. It happens. She was sorry too. Mmm-hmm. She would love some literature on egg donors. Okay. Bye-bye.

Fuck you.

She reached into the shower and turned the water on very hot, the steam filling the bathroom quickly. Scully shivered again, a frisson down her spine, and stepped under the full blast of the water. She gasped a little and jumped, reaching around to turn the temperature down.

What the hell had she been thinking? And then she wondered if she were chastising herself for kissing him or for sending him home. She scrubbed at her skin with a pouf, the lather covering her as she ruminated. Why had Sarah Campbell's words disturbed her so? She knew that people had been talking for years, though Sarah had been the first to say it to her face. And no surprise there, really. What about this had gotten under her skin?

He'd had a good point in his harsh words there at the end. What harm could really come of it? She had asked him to father her child and the conclusions that would have been drawn if the treatments had succeeded were obvious to anyone. And yet, somehow the idea of not succumbing to it, of knowing they were above the rumors, was a comfort to her.

She had wondered before if that knowledge was as comforting to her as a relationship with Mulder would be. This was the first time she had ever come so close to exploring that possibility and the reality was that she cared less and less about what anyone else thought of her.

She would never have children. She had lost her sister and her father. Bill now looked at her with such pitying contempt that it made bile rise in her throat. Was she really prepared to lose something else in the name of a martyrdom she could no longer rationalize?

Scully thought again about Mulder's weight pressing down on her, about the firmness of his lips. His long legs beneath her. She turned the water back up.

***

Mulder was on his third scotch, his fifth book of matches and his sixth burn when he asked for the tab. He got to his feet; swaying slightly as the scotch met the beer and the two did a mad tango through his senses. He sat back down and asked for an ice water while he pondered what to do next.

He wanted to call Scully and ask her if she would marry him if he put in his resignation tomorrow. He wanted to stand under her window with a boombox and play "In Your Eyes" until she...what? The idea of dating her in any conventional way was ridiculous. He knew everything about her already and the thought of taking her to some precious restaurant while he asked chatty questions about her favorite color was beyond embarrassing.

Their relationship was singular and what would really have happened if the evening had ended in bed? The days in the basement would likely have gone on the same, only he would have the promise of going to her apartment at night and pressing her against the wall with his mouth and his hips. Would it be worth the risk? And what would come of it all? 

He had no answer to these questions and knew only that he couldn't stand the unraveled end to this day. This day that had started out full of such promise.

He wondered where he and Scully would be now if she had been pregnant after all. He thought about how happy she would have been to come home and tell him that a baby was going to be born. Mulder imagined watching her belly grow with a new life, holding his hand against her to feel the strong arms and legs of their child pressing against the world.

He rested his head on the table and stared up at the waitress who brought his ice water. It was gloriously beaded with diamond droplets of condensation and the ice clinked against the glass. His phone rang.

"Is that her?" asked the waitress.

Mulder didn't need to look at the caller ID to find the answer. It never occurred to him to wonder how the waitress knew his story, or at least the general idea of it. He supposed that many sad-looking men with rumpled hair and aching groins came to drink on her shift.

"It is."

"Go on then." She was at least fifty and had the lank, tired hair of someone who works all night. Her skin was sallow but her eyes were kind and Mulder thought her suddenly beautiful. He left her a ten dollar tip and she smiled at him before giving him some privacy as he answered the phone.

"Mulder," she said.

Scully was sitting on the edge of her bed, her legs crossed and feet tapping rhythmically against the mattress. Her hair was drying into loose curls around her neck and she pulled her bathrobe tighter.

"Hey." His voice sounded heavy and she was flustered.

"Did I wake you? I can call later." She twirled an imaginary phone cord with her big toe.

"No, I'm up. I'm not home yet, actually."

"Oh. So. Where are you?  Because I was thinking, Mulder, and what I have been thinking is that you should come back here tonight."

He heard that low, strange sound in her voice again. Moments ago he had been hoping that she would say this when she called and yet the reality of it left him ruffled.

"Are you sure? Scully, I think what you said before, about it maybe not being the right time because of, well, the news today and all, was valid and I think that you have a point which was, uh, valid and..."

He was babbling and kicked the side of the booth in frustration. "I'm at a bar."

"Are you drunk? No, never mind. I'm sure, Mulder. I've thought it all over in detail and I want you here."

He laughed to himself at the degree to which she had likely analyzed it all. He wondered if he would find a flow chart on her table.

"I'm just a few blocks away, Scully." He was standing again, steadily this time, and the waitress caught his eye and winked. He grinned at her and made a thumbs-up sign.

"Come back."

She hung up the phone.

***

Mulder walked out into the night, his hands jammed into his pockets. The chilly evening air made him alert and clearheaded. He could feel the lingering intoxication fade as he walked briskly back to Scully's building.

He took the steps two at a time, then walked down her hallway, whistling in a quiet, tuneless sort of way as he ran his hand along the chair rail. He knocked lightly and then opened the door. "Scully?" he called.

She was standing in the living room, arms folded about her waist. She wore a cream-colored robe of a heavy, satiny material that reflected the light with a dull sheen. Her smooth feet were bare and she wore no makeup, no perfume, and had left the lights on. No candles had been lit. She did not want to cheapen the moment by staging a coy seduction.

Mulder stared at her and felt tongue-tied and seventeen again. He stood mutely in her doorway.

She sat down on the couch, looking up at him. "I'm glad you came back. I felt stupid calling you, but I would have regretted it if I hadn't."

He shut the door and when he sat next to her, he became suddenly aware of his idle hands and put a fat throw pillow on his lap. He began to section the silk tassels into bundles of eight strands each.

"I'm glad I came back too. But Scully, you were right. We do still have to work together. And our jobs are not...I mean, I don't know how this works."

She shrugged lightly.

"I don't know how it works either. I just know that when I had my cancer and they told me I was going to die, I had so many regrets about the things I wasn't going to get to do. I have tried to live my life with such caution, but I find that the moments when I felt the most alive have been the moments when I was taking chances. I nearly had an affair with a married man. And when he told me that he wanted to leave his wife for me, I considered it for a time. I ultimately left because I couldn't handle the responsibility of that commitment. I didn't want to be that woman."

She pressed her fingers to her lips and took a deep breath before continuing.

"I've wondered more than once what would have happened if I'd made the bolder choice. That tattoo on my back was a crazy impulse, but at the time it was my rebellion against a path I didn't want to take but didn't know how to change. I see now that I've been my own enemy. It's time to make peace with what I really want, Mulder. It's time to find a different path."

She finished speaking, her voice even and measured, but Mulder could hear emotion rippling under the surface. Her stare did not break even as she stood before him, holding his large hands in her smaller ones.

Her thumb brushed his wrist and he could feel his pulse beneath her touch. There were no alarm bells this time, only the certainty that a change had taken place and that they were both content with it.

She dropped his hands and loosened the sash of her robe. Her shoulders lifted and rolled back, the fabric making a shimmering puddle on the floor. A soft scent rose from her skin and, once again, he thought of the sea. He could not speak and she watched him watching her.

"Come to bed, Mulder."

He stood and took her hand as she led him down the hall.

***

I just want to see you when you're all alone  
I just want to catch you if I can  
I just want to be there when  
The morning light explodes  
On your face it radiates  
I can't escape  
I love you 'til the end

Love You 'Til The End, The Pogues

***

Dawn came dressed in splendid orange and purple, and her golden light fell on Fox Mulder.

He lay on his back, left knee bent and the sheet bunched around his hips. One hand was draped across his stomach and the other was tucked under his neck, propping his head up. Scully slept on her side, facing away from him, and he watched the gentle rise and fall of her back beneath the sheet. He resisted the impulse to run his finger down her spine, to kiss her neck. She would come to the day when she was ready.

They had spoken little after entering her bedroom last night and he did not know what she would say to him when she awoke. Perhaps she would voice her regret, but he did not think so.

He remembered the way she had looked when she had been on top of him, and later the delicious sting when her nails had dug into his back while she pulled him down into her. He remembered her soft sighs, her slick skin, and the honeyed taste of her.

A low noise escaped him and Scully shifted in her sleep but did not wake.

He made no predictions and knew only that he would be able to close his eyes and envision her like this for the rest of his life. Mulder rose to shower, moving gently so as not to disturb her, and felt for the first time that he had given her something of value.

 


End file.
